


not so far from now

by thethrillof



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethrillof/pseuds/thethrillof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TFP: drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Breathe Again**

"…Hey, Bulk?"

"Mm?"

"Could you maybe…open the window?"

He hated leaving the window down. Not just because it could blow their cover, but it was  _weird_  feeling air rush through his body.

But the dirt from the cave still coated him inside and out, and Miko's breathing was still sounding a bit unsteady. His spark clenched. He never wanted to see her so hurt and terrified ( _dying_ ) again.

"Sure, Miko." He felt her tense muscles relax and her breathing steady as wind rushed over her.

Now leaving the window  _up_  would be the problem.

**Drive**

He knew it was stupid, he knew he was the responsible one, but at the same time he _trusted_  Arcee. She wouldn't let him come to harm.

Jack squared his shoulders, dropped the helmet on the side of the road, and leaned down. "Ready?"

"Of course."

And her engine roared, and they were tearing down the roads, and the cool wind was striking them both hard; it was like the sprawling star-filled sky above them was reaching down and pushing through them and making them know that they were alive, and they were  _home,_  as long as they could drive.

**Insanity**

" _Airachnid, we needed the Autobot for intelligence, and what did you return with?"_

Megatron swung his arm down, tearing into her side, but Arcee didn't feel it. Cliffjumper ran his hand over it before the claws even touched her, making yet another part of her numb.

" _A pile of steaming circuits!"_

Airachnid opened her mouth, but Tailgate whispered into Arcee's left audio receptor, drowning out her terrible voice ( _say goodbye to#_ ) with a stream of easy quips. She couldn't help but laugh as Jack joined in on her right, somehow managing to snark about Megatron's paint job and cling to her arm tightly enough to keep from falling into the pooling blue below.

The Decepticons' both turned toward her at the sound. Even as Megatron dug his fingers into the side of her neck, she couldn't stop—why would she, anyway? He didn't know what she did. Her partners would keep her safe.

… _you will, right?_

_Of course! Why the sudden doubt, 'Cee?_

_Forever is forever, partner._

_We won't leave you alone again. No matter what._

_krrshshshrrrrrrrrrrrr#rtt reboot sys_ _**tem** _ _/_ _**failure** _ _###_

**Cat**

Audio file sent to the guardians:

" _Doc Knock looks like a cat!"_

" _What? No."_

"… _I can see it."_

" _What? He doesn't—"_

" _HA. See?"_

" _No way! He looks like…I don't know what he looks like, but it isn't a cat."_

" _Well, if Megatron can be a shark, why can't Knock Out be a cat?"_

" _Megatron is all—he's all RAARGH and bloodthirsty and evil and Knock Out isn't a cat, okay."_

" _Uh-huh! He's obsessed with grooming and…stuff."_

"… _I did not need that mental image."_

" _What?"_

" _Knock Out. Licking himself."_

Text file attached:

_ Do  _ not _  bring the children over unless they have seven hours of sleep at minimum. _

— _Ratchet_

**Heaven**

"So being 'one with the Allspark' means—?"

"It means…being one again. Being together with all of our people, loved ones and enemies alike. You are…not with everyone, you simply  _are_ with them."

"…what?"

"You become…not all the same, but you are parts of a whole. As you were before. As we all were."

Pause.

"…I still don't follow."

"I…do not know how else to explain."

"Do you think we'll end up there too?"

Silence.

"That's a…no?"

"I believe…yes. You shall."  _I cannot imagine being one without all of you._


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

**Adandoned**

 

The only evidence that there was anything before was the fact that the rock was hollowed out. Not one scrap of metal remained of the base.

They screamed for their guardians, for Optimus, for anyone, even the 'Cons. At least then they'd know it was an attack.

But there was nothing. Even Fowler could find no trace.

In the years after, there were no attacks, no new Energon sources, no anything.

They never gave up, even as Bumblebee's exact shade of yellow was mislaid; even as Ratchet's cultural stories became muddled; even as Optimus Prime's regal voice seemed to lose its gravitas; even as the safety of Bulkhead's frame seemed impossible; even as how racing down a speedway with Arcee in total control felt faded.

They remembered the most important thing.

Their Autobots would never abandon them.

**Hold My Hand**

Optimus rose to consciousness with a few tiny sensations against his armor. Leading him.

Then, sound.

…breathing?

His optics slowly came online.

Blurred light. Grey.  _The medbay ceiling_.

It took him a long time to move his head without pain. He settled with moving his eyes.

An Energon transfusion line was hooked up to the left wrist, opposite of where the pressure was.

He looked to his right, seeing a great mass of white and a few smears of red.  _Ratchet_. A single hand was stretched out, fingertips barely brushing against his own. A little lower, Rafael rested in his palm, closed laptop balanced on his knees. A shivering Jack was lying flat on the berth, palm splayed against his smallest finger. Miko was up even higher, tiny arms attempting to wrap around his wrist joint.

Minutes passed.

Quietly, carefully, he shifted.

Ratchet's fingers were just a little more intertwined. Rafael was in a more comfortable position. Jack was now directly against the warm leader's finger. Miko was in less danger of being crushed by an errant twitch.

His eyes slid shut again, fully comfortable now that they were as well.

**Innocence**

There are no civilian Cybertronians left—either they became soldiers, were killed by the Decepticons eons ago, or are deep in hiding.

Humanity didn't know they existed, aside from the government.

They are…so very lonely.

The Autobots need something solid, something  _real_.

And just in time, the children walk into their lives.

They could be trouble, yes, but they were so young, so filled with life. They were not terrified of their world, did not carry layers of scars on their sparks—or rather, their hearts, and they  _cared_. They cared about these soldiers from another world, fighting a war that was longer than their own species.

They are worth fighting their endless battle even outnumbered, and they would give up their own sparks to keep their innocent friends safe.

**Good Health**

"You humans get hurt so easily!" Ratchet exploded as soon as the child was out of earshot.

"Hey, now, that's not—"

"Not what?  _True_? If Rafael had fallen down those stairs at a higher velocity and hit his head, he would've at  _least_  sustained brain damage. A major concussion at best. Hemorrhaging and death at the worst. And if he had cut his head open, not only would he lose a copious amount of blood, he would be at risk for severe infection as well!" He buried his face in his hands.

"Whoa, Ratchet. It's okay. I know I've fallen down the stairs tons of times," Jack said, "and nothing really came out of it."

"Except a few bruises and that broken pinkie finger when you were five," June said, walking back into the main room. "Raf is fine, by the way."

Jack winced, then perked up. "See, Ratchet? Everything's fine."

"No it isn't! He—you— _nrrg_. Forget it. Fine." He turned back to the computer, muttering to himself—and looking at things Jack recognized. A human anatomy diagram. A list—and while the text was Cybertronian glyph writing, but the images beside it were clearly close-ups of viruses.

His mother came to the conclusion the same time he did, "Ratchet, studying human diseases and conditions can be a scary thing—trust me, I know. We've lived this long, as individuals and as a species." She gestured to herself, then to him, then to Miko. "Yes, we're going to get things, we're going to get hurt, and you have to accept that we can deal with it, and move on. You can't let yourself lose it."

**Memory**

Orion Pax felt the Energon seep through cracks in his armor (and it was so much thicker than he remembered, upgraded, an enemy wouldn't bother with that, why hadn't he  _noticed)_ and spill onto the floor of the Nemesis.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

And his guardians—just his guards, now—would come back, enjoying every second of it. Again. How long…

Optimus. Prime.

He isn't who he thought he was.

He's a prisoner, now. His arms are locked in something that keeps his arms from forming cannons again, as well as painfully hold them above his head.

They play recordings for him. The yellow one—Bumblebee, they say—already wounded, chest plates nearly torn off—leaps onto Knock Out, only to get claws through the spark chamber, offlining with a distorted cry. The great green one—Bulkhead—charging and screaming as a tiny organic was crushed by Megatron himself, finishing him off in almost the same way. The tiny femme—Arcee—shooting and running fast enough to give Soundwave dozens of wounds, but not fast enough to avoid getting pierced through the stomach by a tentacle. Ratchet—poor Ratchet, who he had doubted so, simply getting his head sliced off with a jerk of Megatron's sword.

_Optimus Prime would have saved them_ , something whispers in the back of his processors.

He cannot remember who they were. He cannot remember fighting with them, for them. But they were fighting for  _him_.

The recordings all end in the same way. A close-up of their dying face, all sound filtered out except for their voices.

_OPTIMUS!_

The leader of the Autobots.  _He_  was who they were begging for in their final moments.

But _he_  is only Orion Pax, and he cannot stop screaming.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Downstairs**

They sometimes caught themselves staring at the children, or Agent Fowler, or June Darby. Just a single moment of realization, or remembrance, of I know what you came from— that they push away immediately.

(Ratchet wondered if that was why Raf survived—in his calculations, even a fifth of that would have killed him instantly if it had been normal Energon, instead…)

After Optimus Prime's memories returned, they took a vow of secrecy—none would ever speak of what truly rested beneath their feet. Their friends and allies were literally the spawn of Unicron, and not every Autobot that might find their way to Earth could accept it as well as Team Prime.

**Dark**

Dreams of—

Dreams of forever, and what that really means.

Dreams of planets razed to nothing.

Dreams of bight stars to cinders to black that eat the rest.

Before the beginning, there was—

(But what about before even that?)

Dreams of a raw, mindless desire to have the universe torn back to Oblivion, as it should always have been.

On one side of the world, a young boy opens his eyes and rushes to his guardian to cry.

On the other, a tyrant's claws leave one more set of scars on the side of his berth and begins to prowl.

**Frozen**

Silas never thought he'd think of them as truly beautiful. Amazing pieces of technology, yes; their intricacy was so far beyond anything he'd seen before, he couldn't help but feel something like awe when he looked at how they ticked. But aesthetics? As long at they worked, they were fine.

Until Project Chimera.

He supposed some it was some errant piece of programming, some stray thought leftover from the being that once inhabited the body that was now his. (And even if he had, before, he would have preferred stealthy colors over red.)

It didn't matter in the end. The Decepticon was still in his way, and Silas still took him down. Just because something made his blood—his Energon pulse through his veins harder, made something in his chest burn, did not mean he would fail.

…He was easier than the others.

He did not strike back when Silas swung his hammer. He barely even moved. He spoke—and the voice sounded fantastic—but he couldn't recall exactly what was said, if anything, besides a dying cry.

It didn't matter. And he had to admit, the beautiful red looked so much better covered with icy blue.

**Eyes**

"Look," June snapped, "A few of our ambulances were taken out. It's a warzone out there. If you can get the proper equipment—"

"I can provide some," Agent Fowler said, already pulling out his cell phone.

"When you get the proper equipment, we could get to the site and save as many lives as we can—"

They all flinched as the sound of an explosion roared from the television set, marking one more wild attack. A MECH-built creature or malfunctioning Decepticon, whatever was attacking was shooting wildly, hitting everything it could, right in the center of Jasper.

"—and keep our eyes out for the children," Ratchet finished with her.

**Family**

It's when Jack curls up beside Arcee in the garage after another confrontation with Airachnid.

When 'Bee rambles about something to the others, and Raf translates for him.

When they can all laugh—or at least smile—together.

It's when Miko introduces Bulkhead to another band and they proceed to rock out without realizing that hours have passed.

When Ratchet explains Cybertronian culture, despite some grumbling.

It's when Fowler helps out in a battle, despite huge personal risk.

When Optimus sometimes brings Rafael souvenirs.

It's when June and Ratchet vent to each other about terrible patients they've had to deal with…

(…and when they whisper about patients they've had to watch fade.)

It's when they know that someone is watching their back, waiting for them to come back home.

It's when they finally realize they can't imagine a life without each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Shelf**

Fowler didn't really pay attention to what was left in the Cold War base after all the weaponry and other things were cleared out. Maps that they didn't really need, a few books, an old TV set, and a massive bookshelf. He just had them shove everything in a back room for later disposal.

The kids found it eventually. They dragged the TV out in the main room, pinned a few maps in odd places (or, in Miko's case, drew on them). The books weren't touched as often, but he saw a few strewn around the human-sized platforms.

The bookshelf is still in the room.

The top shelf is covered in pictures: Optimus looking stoic, and just one or two with his face set in a tiny smile; plenty of Bulkhead, from just his face to his alt mode to his array of battle scars; of Rafael and Bumblebee playing their videogames together, and quite a few with them just talking; Arcee and Jack making serious poses for the first half, then silly poses for the next.

On the second, there's a clumsily-made Autobot symbol from ceramics class; a box filled with tools and parts that humans can prepare and use; a first aid kit for humans only; a handful of notes on different variations of Cybertronain anatomy.

On the third, there are  _more_  parts; a book with pages covered in Cybertronain glyphs, along with a handful of English translations; three laptops gathering dust in the back; a pair of fuzzy dice, still with a tacky _happy birthday! -J_ ribbon on one side.

It fills up slowly, but he only checks on it once in a while. He usually forgets about it entirely. But it boosts his mood every time he remembers.

**Can't**

The  _Jackhammer_ 's viewscreen is melted into slag, but she knows they're falling.

Not they. She. Wheeljack—she can't see a lot, but she can see something that looks like a melted arm.

That would make sense, because the—the heat—he was in front when something—

Miko hears voices.

Optimus, it's Optimus, there's something still working.

" _Wheeljack, Mi_ —" static. "— _The_ Jackhammer,  _can you_ —" static.

Her mouth won't move. Someone else is speaking—Ratchet—

" _Please respond_ —"

She can't. She  _can't_.

She hears them all, but they're too slow to work it out. She  _feels_  the ground coming closer, and she can't feel much else anymore.

She remembers what Wheeljack told her at the start.

" _This will probably go—"_ Pause _. "…Bulk would want you to forget about him and live."_

She shuts her eyes.

"… _I can't."_

**Gray**

They had seen cities fall under waves of bombs and missiles.

They had returned to their homes too late, finding nothing but piles of scrap and molten slag.

They had seen so many places with the glyphs spelling out ' _ **no survivors**_ ', first over viewscreens and commlink systems, then carved into broken metal over mass graves as the war went on. More times than they could count.

They had watched their entire world crumble and die, saw their numbers reduced to dust, and believed that was the worst thing they could ever go through.

Seeing the space where their charges, their children had gone to learn, a mix of molten red and dead grey…

The reports are in, the newsanchors are spreading the word:  _no survivors._

…this felt so much worse.

**Stars**

The little girl suddenly realized—he thought she was a  _pet_. After all, the giant hands that were holding her were like how the teacher held sometimes held Timothy, the class hamster. She didn't really understand why, though—he didn't even ask, he just picked her up out of the back yard.

"Hey." Nothing. "Hey! You  _stole_ me!" The red eyes stayed as blank as ever, focused on something in the trees she couldn't see.

Maybe he couldn't hear her. He sometimes made weird sounds and looked up, as if he wanted to jump into the sky.

It wasn't very fun, but that was alright. Her mommy would call the police and they'd find her. Or get the big truck and drive after him herself! It was fun to ride in the big truck, even though it didn't go super fast. He wasn't walking that fast, anyway.

…In fact, he wasn't walking at all. Just standing.

The giant robot suddenly looked at her. "Human. They…they wouldn't leave a human to…"

His voice sounded funny.

And suddenly there was a boom, and she found herself stuck in a pile of branches.

She was in a tree. She was good at climbing trees, not so good at getting out of them. Looking down, she saw the giant robot was on the ground.

"Hey. Hey, mister! Can you hear me? I'm stuck!"

The noises started again. He said something, but all she could hear was " _Comm—Commander Stars_ —" before he got quiet again.

Maybe he was sick, like the old car was. They had to throw that one away, though, because it couldn't deal with the dirt roads and nature stuff. She didn't really want the funny robot to get thrown away.

She couldn't get down, so she tried to get Stars to talk more. He wouldn't. His glowy eyes were still working, though, and she knew that falling asleep when your head gets hit is bad, so she kept talking. Even when the real stars came out and it got colder.

Maybe the police would come, even, like in the TV shows. A helicopter would be fun, although she assured him that his hands were  _much_ cooler.

A helicopter wasn't what came, though. Instead, there was a really cool glow, brighter than the stars and Stars' eyes together. Another giant robot stepped out.

Bigger than Stars, and maybe scarier because of it, but she knew that he was here to save them.

**Questioning**

They think about what might've happened in the years—centuries—millennia (and even that makes them whisper  _god,_ or sometimes _Primus, how long has it been going on_?) since the war began. How many partners they lost. How long the team had been together through it.

They stare at their ceilings as their alarm clocks go from midnight to 3:45 to 6:00 and it's time to go to do what they always do.

They don't ever say anything. Their guardians notice after a while, but hey, they'd had a scare. Optimus was gone for a while. Everyone was stressed.

And that was the problem, really. Everyone had been thrown off. Everyone had been so angry and emotional and under the surface they were terrified, every last one. Like realizing your parents were only human for the first time.

The three had dealt with that before. Parents who left, parents who had no problems with shipping them away, parents who sometimes went days without speaking to them and didn't even realize it. And they knew that their great guardians could get sick, could get dizzy, could die, but they had never been like that. They had been barely holding themselves together.

And  _they_ , the kids, were the ones who spoke up and got them focused.

It was terrifying, in a way. After all, they were squishy humans, the others were giant robots who could level buildings by accident.

The kids were protectors as much as Optimus was. Optimus Prime gave them hope enough to not fall apart. And now they realized how vital they were in that way now, too.

So when they're asked about their tossing and turning, they don't say it's because they can feel the weight of a responsibility that they hadn't realized was there. They just grin bear it, because they love their guardians and will not lose what they've got.


	5. Chapter 5

**Stare**

He'd never admit it. He was a Wrecker, and Wreckers were reckless and fearless and made 'Cons turn tail and run with a single look.

Not that he was frightened, nowhere near it. He was just…a bit creeped out. Which wasn't much better.

It would make more sense if it was something like Megatron, who was definitely strong enough to down him in a one-on-one fight. Being apprehensive of that powerhouse wasn't worth being ashamed over.

But no. It was the Vehicons.

It was their  _faces,_ or lack of _._  It wasn't enough that they lacked mouths, but they _didn't have optics_.

Rafael explained what 'Uncanny Valley' was once, and he supposed that they were the Cybertronian equivalent.

It didn't stop him from crushing them easily mid-battle, because really, they weren't that much of a challenge. But when he saw their stares leveled at him, that sent chills up his backstrut more than their charging weapons.

**Apology**

His wheels scream and leave marks on the pavement.

Too late for 'sorry'. Too late for 'I should've listened'. Too late, because he knew better, he'd been told  _so many times_ —

He says it anyway, chanting through the speakers to Jack's limp form lying across his seats, feeling the hot red liquid that was their Energon pour from his chest. I'm sorry, don't sleep, wake up, that flying 'Con with the ugly blue paintjob is right on our afts,  _wake up wake up I'm sorry, wake up!_

He sends a comm. to Ratchet too, but he isn't getting an answer, and oh Primus—how did they even know he was going out for a spin anyway—they aren't near anything the 'cons would even  _want_ —

So he just keeps saying it, I'm sorry someone please answer me I screwed up  _I'm_ —until there's nothing but static.

**seasons in flight**

The humans don't think about the sheer time-scale of the war.

They don't realize that some of their battles lasted longer than Agent Fowler's entire life. They miss the fact that the day Orion and Megatronus stood in front of the High Council was before  _Homo sapiens_ even existed.

And they seem to believe that the war will end soon. That Earth will somehow tip the scales. That it will tip the scales in their almost terrifyingly short lifetimes, even.

And then the Autobots, the Decepticons, take a sparkbeat and  _look_  at what has been happening since they came to the world forged from chaos.

And while who will win is still uncertain…in the end, the humans could be right.

**Billion**

Six billion humans.

Six  _billion._

Once, that had been irritating. So many to hide from, and they had a talent for sneaking up and getting into things without being noticed—until too late. (Cleaning the insides of pedes was difficult enough with dirt and mud; blood and other internals? Quite a bit worse.)

Mind you, they were  _still_ incredibly irritating. Especially in their cities, where driving quickly was near impossible with the sheer amount of traffic. But in the midst of their—

( _no. no. no, not hives never hives never ever again_ )

—in the midst of their warrens, even Soundwave would have trouble finding him.

**Mixing**

Far away,  _"Jack?"_

A jagged piece of metal was sticking in his chest. No—not just in. It was in his chest and jutting out his back, keeping him suspended in the air.

 _I'm so sorry, Arcee,_  he chanted over and over.

Why?

It was the only thing keeping him from passing out, and he couldn't remember…

He forced his eyes open (when had he closed them?) and looked down.

_"Jack? Where are you?"_

A spidery body, half curled in the dirt, eyes flickering black-purple-black—

Airachnid.

He was skewered on Airachnid's leg.

He clawed at it desperately before he was overcome with a fresh wave of agony, something spilling over his back, into the wound.

It trickled down through him, blue mixing with red to make a disgusting shade of purple. Energon.

In a way, it was almost funny. Dying and unaware of everything around her, Airachnid would still get her payback.


	6. Chapter 6

**_not so far from now_ **

Transformers Prime © Hasbro

**Flute**

“Rafael! You left your phone on the dinner table again!”

“ _Oh no_ —coming, Pilar!”

“It was ringing, so I picked it up—”

_Oh no_

“—and your phone says it was someone named Bee? They were prank calling you, playing a flute or something on it, so I hung up.”

“You hung—agh. Just give it to me.”

“Whooo was it? Was it a girlfri—hey, you don’t have to jump!”

“…I hate being short.”

**Decay**

There was no evidence of signals sent out, distress or otherwise. Perhaps the Eradicons and Soundwave believed that they could repair the damage on their own; perhaps the transmitters were damaged by the rough landing; perhaps they were already dead before they hit the bottom of the valley. It was impossible to tell.

Earth changed and grew so very quickly, the _Nemesis_ was almost completely hidden from view.

A colony of bats took flight from the Autobots as they carefully stepped through a gaping hole in the bow.  Bulkhead nearly attacked a cloud of something that exploded from an Eradicon he accidentally brushed with his foot; a hive of wasps made the space within the armor decided it their home. Some sort of cat creature stared at them disdainfully from atop a cracked berth as their feet stirred dust in the hall outside the medical bay.

The far side pressed against the valley wall, and against it lay the sprawled form of Soundwave. A thin layer of dirt covered most of his upper half, throwing the cracks in his visor into relief as a thin stream of sunlight from another hole trickled down.

When Ratchet leaned over him to ascertain cause of death, a shard fell away, and plant matter spilled from it like so many loose wires.

…There would be no seeing his real face after that.

**Wall**

He is One with the Allspark at the hands of the one he and his brother vowed to be forever loyal to, and still they are separate.

Himself, always safe and with most of their species to the beginning dancing around him and still so, so alone.

His poor brother, whose very spark is in a body that is nothing more that a prison.

It’s just a wall, Dreadwing thinks, curling his nonexistent body into a nonexistent ball. Just a wall that will break down as time passes, and even if it is eons, Skyquake will come home and he will wait forever (ignoring that no, it isn’t a wall, it’s a divide of life and death and planes of existence and there is no passing through that abyss).

**Piece**

Months of running and hiding, and they’ve gotten good at it.

Miko says they’ve gone through a few states, though it’s hard to tell which since the systems went down. Jack’s pretty sure they’ve been going northeast by the sun; it’s definitely cooler than Nevada usually was in autumn.

_There might be something left out there._ The Decepticons can’t be everywhere even with all the Eradicons patrolling the cities and roads and skies.

They don’t have much left of their old lives. The car (that used to be June’s) was abandoned within the first week along with everything but some food, a radio, and…a few pieces of metal.

Green, yellow, blue; red-laced white and blue/red were too far gone that keeping a part of them would be right (or even possible).

The scraps of armor are cracked and have burns along the edges, but they never think to leave them behind because it’s the only thing they have left to remind them of their giant guardians (and that they were the reason they’re gone).

**Wail**

After Raf is brought back from the edge of Dark Energon-induced death, he realizes the dead aren’t as gone as they think. But he never says it.

How would he even bring it up?

He _is_ tempted sometimes. ‘Oh, yeah, since that time I almost died I sometimes see this red ‘Bot out of the corner of my eye when I’m walking around base. I think it’s Cliffjumper. He didn’t tell me, he just said that he misses you guys once.’ Prrrrobably not the best idea.

He’s easy enough to ignore, at least. There are flickers of others, but they come and go a lot more often and don’t try to talk.

He wasn’t sure where they go off to. The afterlife, maybe.

And then he’s captured, stuffed in a glass jar with his friends, and taken to Cybertron, and they are everywhere.

Circling, tearing, screaming ineffectually at Megatron about being trapped.

Their souls are left here because he _tore us back from the Allspark you tyrant you demon you monster_ , and Rafael feels his stomach clench in sick horror that has nothing to do with what Megatron is saying to Optimus.


	7. Chapter 7

****

Transformers Prime © Hasbro

**Rock**

He did not fear, even as his frame was pinned down. Rock was weaker than the metals of Cybertron, and this was not the first cave-in he had dealt with.

 _(nobody is coming,_ we’re disposable _)_

Calm. Start digging. The only way to go is up; you’ll always find a way out eventually.

The sharpness of his claws did little, but through sheer strength he crushed

_(I think we’re going to die here)_

The drill was unexpected and not entirely unwelcome, even if it was from one of Prime’s pets. The vibrations shifted the rock enough to release his arms, and he clawed his way out easily enough.

(Clawing out of the past—for better or worse, that took just a little longer.)

**Table**

His optics were shattered, his eyes were melted shut. Audials were offline, but he didn’t know how—his eardrums had blown out before his voice was healed from the screaming enough to ask. Something had been injected into his metal arm and through both bodies, ruining his sense of equilibrium.

All he had to tell anything were his hands—the flesh ones, as their giant counterparts were long gone, along with everything else. (Or nearly everything else; he had just enough left to keep him alive, through Megatron’s orders or the medic’s sadism or both.)

And what he felt this time was becoming sickeningly familiar. Metal with jagged edges that cut, caused by his own agonized thrashing.

The operating table, again.

And then two sharp somethings (he knows what they are but desperately pretends otherwise) press against his wrist and (squeeze) cut and a hand falls to the table’s surface one-two one-two and he loses everything one more time.

**Remembrance (or not)**

They all sighed a breath of relief, of course. The invaders were gone, the Earth was saved! And on the scientific front, there was a whole new perspective on life beyond the planet, plus an entire tower and ship and piles of giant metal bodies to study, and the virus that had taken them down.

There was some knowledge that they hasn’t all been the same, that some were trying to  _protect_  rather than  _destroy_ , but curiously (or not) the media paid more attention to the heroes in cities who fought instead. After all, who cared about a few aliens who failed at it and died anyway?

**Carol**

It sucked, having to run only a little bit before Christmas. Especially since the only Christmas she’d known involved lovey-dovey couples wandering about Christmas Eve. American Christmas seemed a lot more interesting.

Instead of sitting in front of a tree with her host parents or base, she was curled beneath a blanket from who-knows-where in a snowy parking lot inside her guardian, trying to be inconspicuous.

The couldn’t put music on, of course. There were quite a few people around, since Bulk refused to go too far into the countryside after she took just a little too long to wake up after a cold night.

At least in a city there were hospitals. And soup kitchens. And…carolers.

The carolers were one thing out of many she could have done without. Either cheerier than they ever should have picked— _there’s a war going on, my friends are – gone – and you’re_ happy _?_ she wants to scream _—_ or simply…painful.

As if to prove her point, a low chorus began on the other side of the block: _Silent night…Holy night…All is calm, all is_ —

She slapped her hands over her ears (and she was _not_  about to cry again, no).

“Bulk, I want to see the Christmas trees.” Her voice barely shook.

“Miko…there’s no place to hide there, and I’m not exactly tough to remember.”

“ _Please_ , Bulk!” and it was shaking a lot more. “Please. It’s Christmas Eve!”

Silence for a moment. He still didn’t really understand how awesome Christmas was ( _supposed to be_ ), but he sighed and started his engine anyway.

 _All right_. She leaned back, but still kept her palms against her ears, just in case. The trees were in the middle of the city square, and it was always loud there. No carols. Just lights and trees and the roar of vehicles (that she could pretend were her friends).

**Rattling**

Bumblebee cringed as much as he was able in altmode. Whatever was shifting was not, in fact, from a battle wound, but from something making itself a home in his internals.

Rafael was small enough to be able to reach through spaces after he popped the hood, but all he managed was to grab was a clump of white fur and to cause the thing to retreat even further within the Autobot’s frame.

“Well…it is cold. I’m sure he’ll leave after it warms up a bit?” Raf offered uncertainly.

‘Bee sank on his tires, but beeped an affirmative.

He just hoped the cat would warm up and leave soon before the rattling and itching drove him out of his processor. 


End file.
